


All Alright

by Dragonnova



Series: Alternian Rock [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternian Rock Side Story, Conditioning, Death, Gen, Universe Alteration, Violence, background and world building, told from the POV of Cayden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonnova/pseuds/Dragonnova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are the best Educator the Institution has ever held captive.  You have a record of zero escapes, and your psionics make the best helmsmen.  Yet you are nobody important, and nobody is important to you.  You never love and you never hope - except, maybe this one time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Alright

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not read Alternian Rock this may not make any sense. This story takes place during the time Psiioniic was in the Institution and is made up of small memories Cayden has of Mituna growing up. One event takes place just after the death of the psionic girl in chapter two part two.

Your name is Cayden Quaver, and you are sitting in the middle of the floor holding a small troll in your arms.  You gently card your fingers through his hair; petting his head between the smaller set of his horns.  You’re talking quietly to him, whispering meaningless encouragement, telling him everything will be alright, even though you know he can’t hear your lies now.  

You wipe the trickle of blood from under his nose and continue to rock him in your arms, murmuring kind words to him. Words you wish he could hear, but you know you can _never allow_ him to hear.

You hear a gunshot in the office next door.  The sound echoes down the once deathly silent corridors outside, leaving a ringing in your ears. Your tiny troll does not even flinch, he just breathes shallowly. You look down at him, and remember the first time you laid eyes on him.  Such a short time has passed but he is a natural part of your life.  It feels like he has always been with you, he has always been everything.  You feel your face twisting into a grimace; you broke your own rules and you can no longer deny it. 

When had he rooted himself so deeply into your existence? How did he ever wriggle in so close to your heart? He will be the death of you, but you hope - you dare to hope he will be worth it.

~

The first time you met him was on your night off.

Your superiors usually gave you a little time after an assignment, you’ve never been sure if it was some misguided idea that you might actually get attached to your subjects, or a rare kindness they bestowed upon you for your strong work record and for being within their service longer than anyone else.

Your last psionic was sold to a high blood for a private starship; you were disappointed in this turn of events to say the least.  He had a lot of potential and wonderful endurance. If he had to be a helmsman, you had hoped it would be for the empire.  Not a space going yacht.

Such is life.

Rule number one: Do not hope.  Hope will always kick you in the globes.

You had been looking forward to spending a few days reading without having to deal with ‘ _work’_ , but they called you into the office in the middle of the day.  It was extremely unusual for the Director to be awake at such an hour, so you knew it had to be extremely important.

When you entered the room, one of the attendants wordlessly thrust a small troll into your arms. She had a terrified look on her face for some reason, and ran from the room before you could even blink at her.

It was peculiar, but you were never easily disturbed.

Under normal circumstances you were allowed to pick your subjects; you had earned that right after all the sweeps you spent taking the hard cases nobody else had wanted.   This little one must have been an extremely rare case if they were not giving you the option to turn it down.  You figured you were the only Educator left that wasn’t already tied down with a subject, so this little one was now yours to deal with.

You held the squirming wriggler out at arm’s length and gave the miserable thing the most disgusted look you could manage.  The other attendant _clicked_ in fear and tried to leave the room, stumbling over her own feet before she finally made it outside.  You had at least scared her, so you knew you hadn’t lost your touch.

The little troll stopped squirming and biting your hand long enough to wibble his lip under those doofy looking buck fangs.  Then his dichromatic eyes filled with yellow tears, distorting the red and blue brightness into a muddy orange and brown. You rolled your eyes and groaned, the children were always such whiny little shits.  However, you took note that he was the tiniest wiggler you’d ever seen dragged into this hell-hole of an institution.

You set him down on the Director’s desk and snickered at the way the idiot leaned away from the child as you signed away your life as his Educator.  Sign here, initial there, read the fine print about how you’d die a miserable slow death if you ever let him get away from  you. 

You snorted at it; you’d never lost one yet.  You’d never allowed yourself to care about any of them.  You weren’t about to risk your own life for anyone or anything.  You’d see them dead before they could get away. If you had to be miserable, then by the green moon, so would everyone around you.

Rule number two: Never be stupid enough to care about anyone.

They handed the collar to you so you could put it on him.  You felt your eyebrow arch up into your hair line.  Yes, power inhibitors were needed for _adolescent_ trolls.  They often tried to escape, so disciplinary action had to be taken, but this little thing had barely pupated.  You couldn’t imagine that he could be _that_ much of a threat.

You told the Director so, with flowery language.  You always had a way with words; you always could spin beautiful sonnets - _You called them every filthy name in the book and then a few that were never recorded_.

The little wiggler cried with more determination, probably because of the argument you were having with the Director.  You stopped mid rant, turned towards the little whelp and flicked his ear to get his attention - that crying was going to be the first thing you knocked out of him.

The little one hiccupped, and then turned yellow with anger.

The room filled with the distinct stench of burning ozone and then the tiny beast blew a hole in the side of the building, and took the Director’s head off in the process.

You never liked the guy anyway.

It took two weeks to get it fixed again and you often stare at the new plaster and see your miserable life flashing before your eyes and wonder how your eyebrows managed to grow back.

Apparently, the little wiggler had killed three trolls when they came for him.  They killed his lusus, so he literally tore them limb from limb before he exhausted his power and passed out.  The amount of power that must have taken is truly impressive.

  
You made them give you a collar that would completely suppress his powers until you could get a properly fitted collar for a troll of his skill.  If they had used the normal collars on the child, his own power would have doubled back and killed him the moment he had any sort of tantrum.

You’re _not_ getting soft; it was a precautionary move to keep the merchandise safe. That didn't stop them from making fun of you and informing you that you had finally found the troll that would kill you; the one that would get away – or murder you with his own unfathomable power.

You were going to prove them wrong. 

You were also going to make those sorry sons of barkbeasts in the tech department get off their slothful rumps and create a collar that was suited to control the child without killing him.

~

A few days after the incident with the escapee in the courtyard, you found yourself looking up from your book and observing your little wiggler.  He was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring intently at your carpet fibers with a look on his face that let you know he was two ticks away from giving up on life.

It was a morbidly disgusting thing to look at.  You’re not sure why you started letting him out of his block to keep you company, all he ever did was remind you of how miserable your own life was.

You sighed and turned your book off on your igrub, the little idiot had not heeded your advice.  You had told him to forget about _her_.  Love and hope was the fastest way to cloud your senses and get you killed. That was that.  You were not going to say it again. You were not going to coddle him and mention that little girl or tell him lies about other fish or whatever.  She had been nothing, and he needed to see that. Mituna had become an obedient little troll, but he still had a nasty habit of caring.  He was going to end up dead or with a broken spirit which was just as good as dead.

You reached over and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, dragging him chirping and flailing to the side of your lounging platform.  You opened an app on your igrub and then thrust it into his hands.

“Stop moping, Captor, you’re making me miserable just looking at you,” you muttered and then reached for one of the dusty old books you had read a million times over.

He stared at the app on the screen for a moment and then looked up at you, confused.

You reached over him and tapped the keys on the screen and listened as notes echoed in your quiet respite block.  The silly piano app was barely 4 octaves, hardly enough to play anything grand, but it might be entertaining without giving the little dingbat ideas like a game-grub or something equally mind-numbing would.

“I-I don’t –“he didn’t finish what he was trying to say.  He was confused; it didn’t take a genius to see.  He looked up at you with pleading eyes.

You reached over and tapped out a simple little tune.  “You play music with it.”

“You know how to play?” he asked.

You groaned.  _Thanks, kid, thanks for reminding me of everything I lost with five simple words._

“I used to, I have better things to do now than waste my time on silly games,” you grumbled and opened your book up somewhere in the middle and started to read it.

Mituna stood up, scrambled up the side of the couch, and plopped down onto you.  You growled and shifted around; snarled at the little brat, but he didn’t pay attention to you.  He just nestled under your arm and propped the igrub up on his knees.

“How do you play?” he asked.

You groaned loudly again.  He was _not_ asking you to teach him how to play the piano.

However, you couldn’t deny there was a light in his eyes again.  Perhaps this was the only way to keep him sane.

When did you start caring about his sanity?

You spent the next couple of hours teaching him the notes with simple grub lullabies and rhymes.

~

One sweep later he was nestled under your arm again while you were reading.  He was still a bit dazed after being unhooked from the system, so he was just lazily poking at the keys and playing chords. Or so you thought.  The chords had tickled something in the back of your mind and you had long since stopped reading and listened quietly to his song.

He had learned how to open up other octaves and record the notes he input for playback while he continued to play on other keys.  You hadn’t even known that silly app could do anything that detailed.

He set some chord sequence to play and then he played the melody with it.

It clicked together perfectly and you felt a cold knot of dread in the pit of your stomach.

“Where the hell did you learn _that_?” you asked suddenly.

He twitched like you had slapped him on the back of the head, “I-I uh,” he stuttered.

The background music he had recorded played on without him.

“I-I made it up?” He said, and hoped you bought it.

“Sure. I believe that. “Little” Fugue in G Minor.  Mituna Captor made that one up.” There was a snarl to your voice you hadn’t entirely meant to have, but you hated lies.

“I heard the techs humming it!” He blurted.

“Sure they did.  I believe that one, too.  About as much as I believe Heinous Undead Troll Bach is going to dig his way out of his grave and bite us all on the ass. That’s TWO, Captor,” you said, a deep growl underlying your words.

He squeaked and scrambled to get away, falling off the couch and stumbling to his feet to run, but you were up and after him before he could get two steps from you.  You snatched him by the waist of his pants and lifted him off the ground.  “Three and you _know_ what will happen.”

You had your eyes on him. He knew you did. He also knew that meant you were reading him and getting angrier by the moment.

“DON’T STICK MY HEAD IN THE GAPER AGAAAAAIIIN!” He wailed, but his cries fell on deaf ears.  He realized this and hid his face behind the igrub, trying to keep you from reading him.  “I-I read it ONLINE!”

You stopped mid-way to the ablution block.  That – _could_ be true… it _felt_ true.

You yanked the igrub from his hands and dumped him on the floor.  You looked at the screen, closed the piano app that had still been playing and – sure enough it had been connected to the Wi-Fi.

You felt your blood-pusher tap out a rhumba; you pointed the igrub at him when he sat up. “Have you contacted people?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, ‘N-no...”

“What EXACTLY have you been looking up on this?”

He blinked owlishly at you like he had no idea what you were on about. 

“I swear, Captor, I will beat you within an inch of your life if you do not answer me straight,” you said.

He flinched again.  “Just sheet music and a recording upgrade for the app, that’s it, I swear.”

“That’s it? You haven’t contacted friends?” You regretted asking that the moment you said it.  He looked like a kicked woofbeast, of course he didn't have friends - he never had real contact with anyone.

“No, the staff would have traced it back to you, I wouldn’t do that on your device,” he answered, and lowered his head.

You believed him.  You’re a little taken aback that he knew how to get past your passwords, but then that wasn’t very farfetched.  He _WILL_ be a helmsman someday; the best helmsmen are often technological geniuses, and he’s always had an uncanny talent for tech – which is why you kept it well out of his reach when possible.  “Stop your blubbering, I believe you.”

You toss the igrub back at him and he fumbles to catch it.

You took a few steps back to your lounging platform and then turned back to him, “Stop hacking my igrub, dumb-butt, before you get us both in trouble.  They can trace that kind of shit; I don’t care how good you are.  I’ll let you get online and look stuff up when you want to, but you had better tell me _what_ and _only_ look up what you tell me.”

“Okay,” he said and smiled brightly, all lopsided silly fangs.

You grumbled about getting too soft in your old age and slumped back down into your couch and buried your nose in your book again.  He had curled up against you in moments, and played the same song again –  correction - he perfected the same song.  You haven't heard someone play classical in so long, and it made you ache.

At some point he fell asleep; the igrub slid from his grasp and nearly hit the floor before you caught it. 

A thought struck you, and you opened up the search history.  It only had the history of the extra apps he’d downloaded.  There was nothing about sheet music.  You tried to tell yourself that he must have erased the history, but why would he erase everything but the apps he had bought with your account?  They were the damning evidence, but he didn’t think to erase them?

You highly doubt it.

~

You had to hold him after a particularly bad integration session.  You've told them not to overtax him like that, but they pushed him beyond his limits despite your warnings. He’s bigger now, he’s almost four sweeps old, but you still see that tiny little wiggler they brought in and thrust into your arms.

The techs wanted to test his durability as a power source.  You told them he wasn’t ready for that yet.  Normally, you start out training the really young ones by teaching them control.  THEN you work on endurance testing.  He had just barely begun the endurance tests and he simply was not ready for powering a system, but they wouldn’t listen.

You thought it would be more than he could withstand, but he took it calmly and didn't fight them when they hooked him up.  You beat yourself up for not training his endurance sooner while you watched them plug him into the mainframe's power. 

You’d gotten soft.

You usually left after they jacked him in, you were only needed long enough to input your passcode into his collar and remove it.  This time you had stayed and watched. Mituna almost seemed – _distracted_ while he hung tangled up in biowires.   He had glared at you, made eye contact for just a moment, and you got a reading from him you had never gotten before. He was _angry_ with you for staying, like you had just walked in on him getting out of the trap or something.

He was in pain, you expected that much.  Hooking into a system was never easy right at first.  He struggled to keep his mind focused, fought against the strain of the system. You could feel moments of distress radiating off him, but then he let out a disturbing sounding chirrup and he just – shut down.  You could no longer read him after that, almost as though he was no longer there in front of you.  An empty shell replaced the boy you had come to know so well. 

It honestly frightened you, you tried to hide it, but you were scared for the first time in many sweeps.  You had asked if he was okay and the tech turned around and gave you a bewildered look like you had just sprouted a third horn in the middle of your forehead.

You snarled at him, baring your fangs.

The tech spun back to his screen, squawked about all systems normal. Then the idiot just stared intently at some speck on the keyboard.

The other tech said it was normal for him to basically ‘shut off’ while he was hooked up, it lessened the strain on his pan if they syphoned his powers while he was unconscious.  They’d work on keeping him functioning as both a pilot and a power source later. You couldn’t argue the point; you’d never actually stuck around long enough to see what it was actually like.  

You could have sworn you saw Mituna glaring at you out of the corner of your eye just before you actually looked back at him, hanging limp and comatose in the wires.

He had powered the entire system for an hour before you finally started asking them to take him down, he’d never used that much of his psionics before, you weren’t sure if he could have kept it up for much longer without doing damage to his pan. Plus there was the very high risk of a power surge sending feedback through his ports and doing serious damage.  You had not trained him for that at all yet.  He wouldn’t know what to do, and it could possibly kill him.

Even now, thinking back on that incident, you fear you jinxed him by worrying.

Just as you dreaded, a power surge suddenly ripped through his biowires and caused him to convulse and scream in agony.  It was something that happened often to Helmsmen but with training they could reroute it in time or endure it.  It was not something you wanted him to deal with until he was stronger.

You had grabbed one of the techs by the horn and yelled at him to take the boy down immediately. 

“HE’S NOT READY FOR THIS!” You screamed.  They had no business taking a chance on frying his think pan because they were curious about his power.

They disconnected him quickly, and slapped the collar back on him before he had a chance to regain any strength.  Then you snapped at them, snarling obscenities in their direction until they ran away.

You knelt down beside him and gathered him up off the floor, no longer caring if you seemed weak.  You would tear their throats out if they so much as looked at you cross-eyed over it.  Nobody would care anyway.

~

So this is where you are right now.  This is where you began to reminisce over the boy in your arms.

You hold the little troll _you care nothing about_.  He’s just another subject to you.  You don’t _care_.  You are _not_ whispering to him that he’s a good boy, or that he’s done so well.  You are _not_ thinking about the first time you laid eyes on him, or how strong he’s become.  You are _not_ thinking about all the times you’ve snapped at him and treated him like some piece of machinery – you are _not **regretting**_ every hateful thing you’ve said to him.

You’re lying to yourself, of course.  You’ve always hated liars.

You card your fingers through his hair, petting him, and quietly tell him, “Everything will be alright. It’s all alright.” 

He finally stirs, shifts, and then purrs in your arms momentarily before he quietly sings back the rest of the lyrics in reply, “I’ve got nothing left inside of my chest, but it’s all alright.”

You’re stomach drops and you lift your head up and look around the room, hoping nobody had heard. 

Those are lyrics to a song you know had been banned simply because heretics had chosen that chorus to sing while they were tortured and killed.    You were present during the executions; the GHB had banned so many forms of music and then executed anyone that wouldn’t renounce. 

But that was _long_ before this little one had even hatched.

You know for a fact that he had not looked it up on your igrub; there was _nothing_ to look up.  This sort of information was wiped from public records.  Only those that witnessed it remembered it, and they dared not speak of it. 

Realization suddenly hits you - _how could you have not known?_   He’s been using the systems to his advantage all this time. He’s been gaining access to the vast imperial knowledge hidden cleverly behind encrypted walls.  It would be easy to do in a facility like this, if a troll had the technical know-how and talent they could reach all sorts of top secret information here.  The biowires are a two way street to the system mainframe. Energy and information pass freely between the host and the vessel.  You know full well Mituna possesses these skills to manipulate it; you just turned a blind eye to his shenanigans.

“Whoa, that’s one of the banned rebel songs isn’t it?! I remember that one! Wasn’t that the song your people sang when they were executed?” One of the techs had returned; he was clearly shocked by what he was seeing and hearing.  
  
“Oh man, you’ve been teaching him that stuff?! I thought you renounced them!”  He laughed, and then you could see the confusion and laughter suddenly twist into something a bit more sinister.

“No, I didn’t teach him that music,” you stated flatly.

“Then where the hell did he hear it, Cayden?” He asks, sneering at you. 

You lock eyes with the troll and stare him down, even though he’s towering over you due to your position on the ground.

“I’m not sure, come in and close the door, we’ll figure it out,” you say.

He does so.

The tech holds your gaze and his expression slowly shifts to concern.  “You seriously didn’t teach him that…”  He quietly says.  “Crap, I’ve been getting odd readings every so often, I wonder if he’s been conscious – Do you think he’s been hacking us?“

“You’re going to forget all of this,” you say, ignoring his questions.

He shakes his head slowly, but he can’t break the eye contact. “I don’t think so, man; we’re supposed to report abnormalities like this. This is a top secret government installation after all, we've been too damn lax in our protocol!”

He’s not listening to you, so you intensify your power. 

“No – you _will not_ report this. You’re tired and depressed.  You don’t really know what you heard.”

The tech nods in agreement, then parroting your words, “I don’t know what I heard.”

“You’ve been thinking about using the gun you keep in the top drawer, haven’t you?” You nod in the direction of his work desk.

He nods in agreement again, never questioning how you know about that gun.  They never question you when you've pushed them to this point.  It takes all the power you can muster to do this, you’re going to have a splitting headache for the next few days and numerous nosebleeds, but this is your _true_ power, when you actually choose to use it.

You knew about his depression because you can feel it too.  You knew about the gun he keeps in his drawer, because he had just thought of it.

“Then I suggest you do so,” you say.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Song and title are based on "All Alright" by Fun.


End file.
